


Indiana Jean

by kankrisredsweater



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kankrisredsweater/pseuds/kankrisredsweater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“How many times have you seen this movie?” I ask incredulously.</em><br/><em>“Just watch it,” Marco laughs, waving off the question.</em><br/><em>“Nerd,” I mutter fondly.  I return my gaze to the screen, but I’m hoping Marco continues to quote along with the movie. That’s gonna be the real entertainment.</em><br/>------<br/>In which Jean Kirschstein sucks at watching movies, but rocks at Valentine's Day gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indiana Jean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolateandnerves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolateandnerves/gifts).



> Some cliché Valentine's Day smut for [chocolateandnerves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolateandnerves) because they're a dork and I am a bigger dork. Enjoy!

“Jean, this thing is uncomfortable,” Marco complains loudly, tugging at the wrinkled blue bandanna tied in a makeshift blindfold over his eyes.

“Shhh, we’re almost there,” I promise, guiding my shuffling boyfriend gently by the shoulders until he’s standing directly in front of our locked apartment door.

“Are we at home? What are you doing?” Marco asks in a tone that is part annoyance and part curiosity.

“It’s a surprise,” I answer simply, to his visible chagrin.

Marco’s confusion is understandable. I may or may not have just found him during his lunch break at the shitty telemarketing temp job he’s been at for a little over two months, tied a blindfold around his head, and informed him that he’d be taking a half-day today.

“I could get fired,” Marco had groused as I helped him chivalrously into the passenger-side door of my beat-up secondhand sedan.

“Wow, what a _shame_ ,” I had responded. “Working three hours instead of six ain’t gonna kill you. They’ll barely notice you’re missing.”

Marco couldn’t argue that. People at the call center don’t busy themselves with temps that much. For all they know, Marco could have just taken a really long smoke break. Regardless of the fact that Marco’s never touched a cigarette in his natural life.

Presently, I’m fumbling with my keys. It takes me a few tries to stuff the right key into the lock properly. Part of that isn’t my fault; these old buildings are in desperate need of renovation, locks included. Rent’s cheap, though.

The door opens (finally) and I nudge Marco over the threshold. I close the door behind me, and Marco takes off his shoes instinctively. _I don’t want to get dirt all over!_ I can hear his voice in my head and it makes me smile. My mom never cared about what her kids tracked into the house, but Marco has like a hundred siblings and I don’t blame his parents for attempting to keep the house as tidy as possible.

I twine my fingers with his and he grabs me back, letting me lead him into the living room.

“You can open your eyes,” I tell him, grinning proudly at the sight in front of us.

I’m not one for grand gestures. My ideal date is Chinese takeout. Maybe Mexican if I’m feeling adventurous. I think I’ve bought Marco flowers maybe twice in our year or so of dating. This particular gesture took some work, more work than I usually put in to pretty much any aspect of my life. But it’s worth it to see the beautiful, brilliant smile that blossoms over Marco Bodt’s freckled face.

“You _didn’t!_ ” He exclaims in a hushed tone, turning his head to beam at me.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe,” I say, shrugging my shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant, though inside I’m very proud of myself.

The living room itself isn’t much to look at, but it’s… homey. It’s got a too-plushy couch that Marco and I found at a yard sale for thirty bucks, with an offensively orange woolen blanket draped over the back. There’s a coffee table with a lamp, both of which we scrounged out of two different dumpsters. We’ve got an armchair that I think came from his grandma or great aunt or something. And we’ve got a 40-inch plasma screen TV, which is pretty much the only nice thing in our apartment. Displayed on the screen, in glaring red-to-yellow chromatic lettering, is the title menu of _Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark_.

Marco _loves_ action movies. He nearly jizzed himself in the theater when we saw Pacific Rim. In fact, one of the first things he’d told me when we started dating was that he was in love with the _Indiana Jones_ franchise. He was absolutely appalled to learn that I hadn’t seen any of them, and him making me watch them became sort of an inside joke between us. And I couldn’t think of a better Valentine’s Day date than finally acquiescing. Plus, y’know, it’s a movie. Very low-key, very little physical effort necessary. All the criteria of a good date, in my book.

Of course, I spruced the place up a little. I finally cleared out the beer cans and pizza boxes and other detritus that we’ve been meaning to deal with for a week or so. I even vacuumed, which is my emotional equivalent of scattering the place with romantic rose petals while swanky jazz music plays in the background.

“This is so worth taking the rest of the day off for,” Marco says happily, punctuating his sentence with an enthusiastic kiss on my cheek.

“I’m glad you like it,” I laugh. Marco’s so adorable, and he’s so easy to please. He’s one of those people that just _glows_ , whose smile makes everyone else’s day a little warmer, who rarely has a negative word to say about anybody. It’s little wonder that I fell so in love with him, and that I have stayed so in love with him.

He practically bounces across the room to collapse on the couch and pats his lap excitedly, motioning for me to join him. “Be right there,” I tell him with a smile. I retreat to our kitchenette to pop a few bags of popcorn. When I return to the living room, he’s still got that goofy grin plastered across his face. His eyes are crinkly and beautiful and I can’t help but kiss his lips gently before I flick the lights off and settle against next to him on the couch. I pull the hideous orange blanket off of the back of the couch and arrange it over us, and Marco grabs a handful of popcorn in one fist and the remote in the other.

The scene opens on a lush portrait of _Peru 1936_ according to the title card. I suppose I should pay attention to the movie. It’s Marco’s favorite, after all. But I’m cuddled against him, and I’ve got my hand on his arm and I can feel his heartbeat, plus his smile always _does things to me_ , and suddenly I’m high on the adrenaline of being a good boyfriend and making Marco happy.

A young, handsome Harrison Ford is talking to some people who I assume are Peruvians. Everything is overdramatic. The soundtrack rocks, though. I glance up at Marco; his eyes are wide and excited. My god, it’s like he’s never seen this movie before. He’s so damn cute. Wow.

Indiana Jones and his Peruvian friends are sneaking through the underbrush to the temple. I’m actually idly paying attention until –

“ _If they knew we were here, they would have killed us already_ ,” Indy says on-screen, but to my surprise, Marco quotes directly along with him. He’s pitched his voice low and gruff, and it honestly startles me. I gape up at him.

“ _How_ many times have you seen this movie?” I ask incredulously.

“Just watch it,” Marco laughs, waving off the question.

“Nerd,” I mutter fondly. I return my gaze to the screen, but I’m hoping Marco continues to quote along with the movie. That’s gonna be the _real_ entertainment.

Suddenly, people have guns and Harrison Ford looks _very_ betrayed. Some cheesy dialogue is traded. Indy owns someone with his infamous whip. Marco looks as though he’s about to start applauding. I realize that I may have severely underestimated Marco’s love for this movie.

Don’t get me wrong. I like movies a lot. I just don’t always have the attention span for them. Especially not when my attention is decidedly elsewhere: namely, the excitable freckled dork who honestly looks like he’s seven years old and experiencing Disneyworld, and also on the rapidly intensifying heat that’s curling slowly beneath my navel.

I stroke Marco’s arm slowly beneath the blanket, tracing my fingers slowly along the veins in his forearm. My fingertips find his bicep and then his shoulder. He shifts, almost subconsciously, to accommodate my searching hand. It isn’t until I begin trailing feather-light along his chest that he murmurs into my ear, “Are you even paying attention?”

“Mmm,” I reply noncommittally, tilting my head to plant a kiss on Marco’s jawline, right below his ear. His sharp intake of breath makes me chuckle internally. Maybe I’m not playing fair, but the way Marco slowly exhales, like he’s trying to control himself, is enough of an indication that he doesn’t mind being distracted. I press my lips against his pulse and suck lightly, smiling against his warm, sweet skin when I feel his hand brace against my shoulder. _There_ we go. I suction on again, slowly, pulling at the skin ever so slightly with my teeth. I intend to leave my mark there, but we’ve got all day so I’m not rushed. Marco’s breath hitches, and I can feel his gaze on me. I raise my eyes to meet his.

“Can I help you?” Marco asks, trying to sound cavalier, although his voice is thick and his gorgeous dark eyes are heavy-lidded.

“Maybe,” I respond with a smirk, tilting my face up towards his.

“This what you want?” He asks softly before lowering his mouth to mine, catching my bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently. He tastes like popcorn, and as he slides his tongue between my lips, I whine involuntarily, a helpless noise in the back of my throat that makes the corner of Marco’s mouth twitch against mine. One of my hands braces against Marco’s chest, the other one finding purchase in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Mmm… _fuck_ ,” he sighs against my lips, and I become increasingly aware of the growing friction in my jeans.

I break away from his mouth and leave kisses along his neck, stopping every so often to nip gently, before arriving at the collar of his shirt. The hand that had been on his chest drops to his waist and finds its way beneath his shirt’s hem, pressing against his chest. Marco doesn’t need to be told twice; the shirt is on the floor so quickly that I barely saw him take it off. I glance briefly at the TV screen – Indy is talking to some bangin’ actress and it all looks very intense – before I return my attention to my shirtless boyfriend. I swear, I’ve seen this sight many a time, and I’m never going to get sick of it. Marco is gorgeous in a way that doesn’t seem intimidating. He’s lanky, all lean muscle, still sporting a cluster of bruises along his collarbone from a particularly fun bout of carelessness a few days ago. I smile at the memory of Marco writhing beneath my touch.

“You just gonna stare like an idiot or are you gonna kiss me?” Marco asks, arching an eyebrow and smiling a smile that sends a shiver through my body. I lean forward and touch the tip of my nose to his, ghosting my breath over his lips before pulling away slightly. He follows me, craning toward me. “Tease,” he breathes, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, working a new mark into his skin over one of the old ones. He arches beneath me and rolls his hips up into mine, and I can feel his cock settle into the crease of my hip. I see stars.

I keen down against him, feeling his hands bracing my hips, encouraged by his small breathy moans. I’ve left a few new marks on him, and they’re purpling beneath my eyes. He’ll complain about them later. I’ll staunchly refuse to regret it.

“You should see yourself right now,” I comment aloud, only half-aware that he’s listening. “I’m so fucking lucky that you let me see you like this.”

Marco’s blush seeps down his neck and colors his chest. “Jean –”

“Seriously,” I interrupt him. “You’re damn stunning. I oughta take a picture.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Marco laughs. “You’re awfully mushy right now.”

“Shush,” I pout at him. He laughs and sits up slightly, gently pulling me into his lap. “Come on, now, I can’t see the screen,” I say sternly, waving randomly towards the TV screen. I think there’s a chase scene happening. Marco, surprisingly, looks like he couldn’t care less.

“You can watch it later,” he informs me with a firmness that says, _and you WILL watch it later_. I have the best vantage point, sitting on Marco’s spread thighs and straddling his beautiful stomach. He pulls my own t-shirt over my head with ease, discarding it along with his. His hands slide down my chest, thumbing my nipples and stroking my sides. My breath catches when he begins to fiddle with the button of my jeans, and I suddenly feel lightheaded and rest my forehead gently against his.

“A year later and this still affects you,” Marco says quietly, wonderingly. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up and take my pants off,” I grumble, and Marco chuckles as he slides his warm, strong hands past my waistband to cradle my ass. I breathe out slowly as he does so, lifting slightly, allowing him room. He holds me aloft a few moments, presses his lips to my chest, before working my jeans down my thighs. I sit back and let him pull the denim off of me, flushing at the intensity of his gaze.

“You really need to stop going commando,” Marco comments, lazily brushing his fingers along my hipbone, making me choke on air and forget how to function, my arousal _very_ evident to both of us. “Someday you’re gonna get your dick caught in your zipper.”

“Don’t see you complaining,” I grumble, too distracted to really answer properly. He laughs, and I clamber back on top of him, eager to reacquaint my thighs with his. He pulls me close to him, whispering soft and sweet affirmations against my collarbones and punctuating each lovely phrase with the gentle brush of his lips on my skin. I love being in his arms, feeling him this close to me. It’s not even that I feel amazing with my cock pressed flushed and wanting against his stomach, with his fingers digging light red lines into my back, although that is certainly an incredible sensation. We are entwined and we move as one and I just love being a part of something so earth-shatteringly beautiful.

“Are you thinking gross gushy thoughts about me?” Marco teases.

“There is no possible way you could know that,” I huff, burying my face in the cinnamon freckles dusting his shoulder.

“Call it an instinct,” Marco says with sunshine in his voice as he pulls my hips closer to his. I’m sitting directly over his cock – there’s no way I can mistake the ridge in his pants that is nudging against my ass ever so insistently – and I grind down into his lap, cherishing the breathy gasp that issues from his lips.

“You’re a piece of work,” he says quietly, rocking upward, pressing himself against me.

“I think it’s incredibly unfair that only one of us has pants right now,” I point out, gesturing to the juncture of our bodies.

“Let’s see what we can do to even the score,” Marco says, arching an eyebrow. I kiss him quickly before resituating myself between his parted legs. I lean into his chest, encouraging him to relax back against the arm of the couch. My lips leave a trail of wet kisses down his stomach, stopping briefly to poke my tongue into his navel and laugh at the indignant squeak that it elicits.

Loving Marco is nothing if not fun.

I turn my lavishing attentions to Marco’s hipbones. They’re incredibly sensitive, and the shaky laugh that Marco emits when I drag my tongue along the left one is nothing short of glorious. I pick a spot and remain there, pulling at the flesh with my teeth, tasting skin and sweat and heat. He squirms beneath my mouth’s conquest, one of his broad hands finding mine and squeezing hard. He’s trying not to buck up into my jaw. I appreciate that about him.

I could keep up my slow, sensual attack on Marco’s hips for hours, but suddenly he moans, “ _Please,_ Jean…” and I immediately am compelled to reevaluate my stance on teasing. I withdraw, admiring the new mark, before taking pity on my panting boyfriend. Again I drop down to him, pulling at the fasten of his pants with my teeth. Marco lets out a long sigh as I work the clasp open with my mouth, and once it’s finally free, I hook my fingers into his belt loops and tug the stiff khaki down his gorgeous long legs.

Being between Marco’s legs is a privilege that I hope never to take for granted. As I’m dragging his black-and-yellow Hufflepuff-branded boxer briefs down his legs – without making fun of his Hogwarts house, for once – it strikes me that I’m still so fucking grateful that he lets me do this. I waste no time in wrapping my grateful lips over the head of Marco’s cock, and the whine that results is music to my ears. My tongue laves over him slowly, taking my sweet time, tasting the precome that has beaded at the tip and pairing those motions with soft, slow strokes at the base of his cock with my right hand.

“F- _fuck_ me, please, _god_ …” Marco’s plea is a barely audible, shivering sigh. One of his hands slides itself through my hair as I take more of him into my mouth. _Breathe through your nose, Kirschstein_ , I instruct myself as I feel his cock pass behind my molars, on a collision course for the back of my throat. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I hold him in as long as possible, and once I am seized with a need for air I drag my lips back up his shaft, popping off wetly.

I look up at him from under the tawny fringe that flops onto my forehead, and I feel a curling of pleasure in my groin when I immediately meet Marco’s beautiful cappuccino irises. He’s got a hand clasped over his mouth, but the tip of his nose is undeniably pink. “How you doin’ up there?” I smirk up at him, lowering my lips onto his cock again, staunchly maintaining eye contact. Marco curses so softly that it sounds like a prayer, and when I hollow my cheeks around him, a visible shudder shoots up his body.

“God _damn_ ,” Marco exhales. “Do you even know what you _do_ to me?” The sheer amount of _want_ in Marco’s voice is a little overwhelming, and I can’t help crawling up to align my face with his, to brush my nose against his, to take his lips with mine in a tender kiss. I kiss him again, and another time, and many more times, and he holds me there, running his hands down my sides, digging his fingertips into my thighs, pulling my knees up to where his hips are so that I’m sitting in his lap again. He’s kissing me breathless, dizzy, and his hands have found my ass again, squeezing slowly and deliberately, and if it was his goal to make me arch my hips into his, he definitely succeeded. I can feel the length of his cock teasing my entrance, and I’m aware that my cheeks are bright fucking red.

Marco somehow wrests one of his hands away from my ass and leans sideways, fumbling under the couch for the tiny bottle of lube that we’ve stowed there solely for the purpose of couch sex. Just the sight of it makes me drop my face into Marco’s shoulder, and I can hear him pop the cap. There’s a few moments of silence, then Marco drops the bottle on the floor next to us for easy access. He braces one hand against the small of my back, and reaches around me with the other hand to drag his now-slick fingers against my entrance. The lube is still a little cold against my sex-flushed skin, and the sensation makes me shiver.

Marco slips two fingers into me, and my brain pretty much breaks. Still draped against his chest and cowering in his shoulder, I swallow hard, and my fingernails dig sharply into his shoulder blades. He thrusts a few shorts times, each movement pulling forth a needy gasp from my throat. He’s only preparing me, but I _need_ more. I whine as much into the hollow of his neck.

“What was that, now?” Marco asks, and I can hear the coy grin in his voice without needing to see it.

“Need… ah, _shit_ … need more…” I manage, practically cross-eyed at the sensation of his fingers in me.

“That can be arranged,” Marco says airily, and despite his outwardly calm demeanor I can tell he’s barely holding it together. He reaches for the lube again, withdrawing his fingers from me and leaving an aching emptiness in their absence. I whimper with a weird sense of loss. Marco squirts more lube into his already sloppy hand and brings it beneath my ass, slicking his own cock and sighing a little as he does so. I’m so ready for him, and I almost cry when he grips my hips again and slowly guides me down onto his cock.

He gives me a few moments to adjust, as always. In true power bottom fashion, I love riding Marco because it tends to be less painful. And lap sex is even better. Gravity lets me sink down onto him fully, and I’m already basically collapsed against him, so he holds me while I take in the sensation of him filling me completely. After several seconds, I straighten up and carefully my hips forward to press my cock against his stomach. I bite back a moan at the sudden pressure. Marco brings his lubed hand around and grasps me gently, pulling in long and slow strokes in time with my steady rocking. Everything is Marco; my head is blissfully empty, all background noise fades to nothing, and the only think I know is Marco’s low, ragged panting and his lips buried in my neck, murmuring words that may or may not be coherent against my scalp.

I lose track of how long we fuck like this, his steady hands holding my hips in tandem with his, my hands tangled in his thick dark hair, our tempo stable enough to keep us on the same wavelength of pleasure but not so fast that either of us is in danger of losing it. In these moments, I care fuckall about Indiana Jones or Peru or anything other than the beautiful, stunning man beneath me. I drop my head so that my forehead rests against his.

“Love you so much,” I whisper, pressing my lips against his. He murmurs his agreement against my mouth, nibbling playfully, before bringing his head to my neck and mouthing idly along my jawline and Adam’s apple. He begins to suck at my collarbones, and suddenly the sensation is just a little too much and I _grind_ down onto him. Marco practically yelps, and he begins to pull me down harder onto his cock, each thrust getting more chaotic and out of sync. He’s making an absolute mess of my neck, biting mark after fresh mark into my skin, moaning quietly all the while. I muster up my energy and _slam_ down into him, and he responds beautifully, crying out my name in a fucking plea for mercy.

“J-Jean… _God,_ ” Marco rasps, snapping up into mine again and again and filling me with every beautiful movement of his beautiful hips. “Love fucking you so much, you look so pretty sitting on me like this, want you to feel so fucking good…”

Marco gets… chatty when he’s about to come. I’m in no position to complain.

A particularly rough thrust makes me throw my head back, squeezing my eyes closed in ecstasy. I’m falling, disoriented, aware only of Marco’s hands keeping me in the realm of sanity. I feel light, like I’m on top of the fucking world, and suddenly everything is _way_ too much, and with a strangled cry I ride Marco into orgasm, releasing all over our sweaty stomachs. Marco’s not far behind; he collapses forward with a stuttering gasp of “ _Jean,_ you’re so… _fuck!_ ”

The world is silent.

I’m boneless against Marco, my heavy breathing in time with his, my heartbeat slowly but surely calming down. I feel him softening inside me, and once I feel capable of using my leg muscles, I gingerly lift myself off of him, acutely aware that we are both covered in my come and it’s gonna get really gross, really fast.

“You’re gonna wanna clean up, there,” Marco says after a moment, and it’s clear we’ve both had the same thought.

“Yeah, but the paper towels are all the way in the kitchen,” I complain, whinier than I had intended to sound. “Plus my ass hurts and walking is _hard_.”

“You big baby,” Marco laughs, pulling me down to lie next to him on the couch. He kisses my forehead and rolls off the couch, nearly losing his balance in the process. I relax against the couch, suddenly guiltily aware of the fact that the end credits are rolling along the screen. Marco comes back with a wad of damp paper towels, and he lovingly swabs my stomach clean. I jerk my head in the direction of the television.

“I’ve still never seen Raiders of the Lost Ark,” I say casually.

“I’ll make you watch it some other time,” Marco promises. Maybe someday when he stops being so damn kissable, I’ll finally watch the damn movie.

…It’s gonna be a long time before I watch that movie. 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: please use condoms when you're having all forms of penetrative sex!


End file.
